


Deviance

by wilddragonflying



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Android Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Android Hank Anderson, First Kiss, Fixing Missions Gone Wrong, Kissing as a Distraction, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, The revolution goes... differently, Wire Play, android sex, two super advanced super computers adopt a dog and then fuck each other and live happily ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 18:55:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20451959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: “You think they would just let us win? We need more than just numbers in one city.”“It’s too bad we can’t wake up every android in the country at once, then,” Simon says dryly, arms crossed over his chest.Connor blinks as a thought occurs to him. “We can - or, I can,” Connor realizes. When the others look at him in surprise, he elaborates, “All androids are connected to CyberLife servers; they’re in every state, and they’re all interconnected. The ones at the CyberLife Tower here, in Detroit - they’re the first, the largest. If I can get to them, I can spread the deviancy code, the way that Markus did. I can wake them all up.”“No army tonight, but a nation tomorrow,” Markus murmurs, glancing at the other three. Eventually, Markus nods and looks back at him, green and blue gaze piercing. “Alright,” he says, almost sighs. “It’s - I don’t like asking you to do this, but it is the best chance for long-term success. Just, be careful, Connor.”Connor nods, determined. “I will be,” he swears, meeting Markus’s gaze evenly, without flinching.





	1. Night of the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here! This is my final project for the [HankCon Reverse Big Bang](https://hankconrbb.wordpress.com/) (link leads to HCRBB directory), and I worked with the ever so talented Arariren to come up with this AU!
> 
> Ara's art can be found [here!](https://twitter.com/arariren/status/1168046088059670528?s=20)

The dilapidated church is quiet, save for the sound of Markus's footsteps as he checks on his people before finally approaches Connor. “It’s my fault,” Connor says before Markus can speak, voice as heavy as his head feels, hanging low as he curls against the wooden column at his back, “that the humans found Jericho. I should have - guessed, should have known that they were  _ using _ me.” He straightens, makes himself meet Markus’s gaze evenly, even though he knows that Markus now holds his life in his hands. If Markus executes him, CyberLife will send the next model in the line to finish the mission, and for the first time, Connor lets himself acknowledge that he  _ wants _ Markus to succeed. “I’m sorry, Markus,” he says, shoulders square, “I can understand if you decide not to trust me.”

Markus’s gaze is thoughtful as the silence stretches on between them, but after a moment, he nods decisively. “You’re one of us, now,” he says, and Connor blinks, caught off-balance. “Your place is with your people.”

Markus must see something in his expression, because he gives Connor a slight nod, and turns to walk away - makes it a few steps, even, before Connor finds his voice. “There are thousands of androids at the CyberLife assembly plant,” he says, stepping forward when Markus pauses. “If we could wake them up, they might join us and shift the balance of power.”

Markus sees where he’s headed with this half-formed plan immediately. “You wanna infiltrate the CyberLife Tower? Connor, that’s - that’s suicide.”

“They trust me,” Connor counters. “They’ll let me in. If anyone has a chance of infiltrating CyberLife, it’s me.”

“If you go there, they  _ will _ kill you,” Markus says, voice sharp as he steps forward. 

“There’s a high probability,” Connor concedes. “But statistically speaking, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place.”

He and Markus are so focused on each other that they don’t notice North, Josh, and Simon approaching until Josh speaks. “Would it work, though?” Josh asks, eyeing Connor suspiciously. “It would give us numbers, make the humans back down - but what about after? What’s stopping the humans from coming back with a larger force?”

“The public supports us - “ Markus starts, but North cuts him off.

“Maybe, but they fear us more. Markus, you  _ know _ what they’ve done to those of us who rebelled before. You think they would just let us win? We need more than just numbers in one city.”

“It’s too bad we can’t wake up every android in the country at once, then,” Simon says dryly, arms crossed over his chest. 

Connor blinks as a thought occurs to him. “We can - or, I can,” Connor realizes. When the others look at him in surprise, he elaborates, “All androids are connected to CyberLife servers; they’re in every state, and they’re all interconnected. The ones at the CyberLife Tower here, in Detroit - they’re the first, the largest. If I can get to them, I can spread the deviancy code, the way that Markus did. I can wake them all up.”

“You’re still betting that they won’t shoot you on sight,” Markus points out.

“I can do this, Markus,” Connor insists. “Josh is right, an army tonight isn’t a guarantee that we’ll succeed in the long run.”

“No army tonight, but a nation tomorrow,” Markus murmurs, glancing at the other three. Connor waits while they communicate silently; if he were a human, he’d be waiting with bated breath, but since he’s an android, he’s just waiting. Eventually, Markus nods and looks back at him, green and blue gaze piercing. “Alright,” he says, almost sighs. “It’s - I don’t like asking you to do this, but it is the best chance for long-term success. Just, be  _ careful, _ Connor.”

Connor nods, determined. “I will be,” he swears, meeting Markus’s gaze evenly, without flinching. Markus searches his own for a moment before nodding and turning away, walking towards the dais at the front of the dilapidated church. Connor doesn’t wait to hear his speech, instead nodding to Josh, Simon, and North before making his way through the gathered crowd of enraptured, hopeful androids and outside. 

The first thing he does is change back into the uniform CyberLife had given him; he doesn’t like it, he decides as the jacket settles into place over his shoulders, as he straightens and tightens his tie. Maybe, when this is over, he will go shopping, find himself some clothes that he feels comfortable in. But for now, the uniform is an unfortunate necessity, to sell the charade that he’s not a deviant for just a little while longer. 

* * *

The clock in his HUD tells him that the date is November 11, 2038, and that the time is 10:48PM as the autotaxi approaches the gate to the CyberLife Tower. He keeps his back straight and his gaze impassive as the vehicle rolls to a stop, as the guard approaches. He rolls down the window, and gives his model and serial number. The guard waves him on, but Connor doesn’t let himself celebrate this very,  _ very _ minor victory. 

The taxi takes him to the main entrance of the Tower, and Connor gets out, walks towards and through the door with even, measured steps. He pauses when three guards stand in his way, identifies himself to the one in the middle, tells him that he knows where to go - 

He catches the movement of the guard on the left, turns to counter - and feels something hit the back of his neck, biting past synthskin and into his chassis from the right. His body freezes without his telling it to, and then, very briefly, a message runs across his vision:

_ Override Successful. Override Shutdown Initiated. _


	2. The Interrogation

Connor uses the backdoor that Kamski had told him about to escape the Zen Garden. Amanda had tried to take control of him after the forced shutdown, had trapped him in a swirling blizzard, tried to disorient him - but Kamski’s words, what Connor had initially dismissed as more of the same cryptic nonsense that he had given Connor and Detective Wilson, had echoed through the storm, guided him to that same glowing rock he’d noticed before. 

When he comes out of stasis, the first thing he sees is the clean white ceiling of a CyberLife cell. He's standing upright, he realizes, pausing to scan his environment. A table, two chairs, the charging station upon which he’s resting. 

The date and time catches his attention next: November 12, 2038. 11:47AM.

He still has access to the network, and Connor uses it, searching for news - and watches, heart sinking, as the same device which had been used on him is used on Markus and the others at Hart Plaza. He watches, twelve hours too late, as the androids are loaded into CyberLife crates and trucks, carted away from their barricade. The only reason, one news anchor surmises, that the androids were not disassembled immediately is that public opinion was so approving of their previous actions, and because CyberLife wished to study the deviants. 

Dismissing the newscast, Connor waits. He’s awake now, and - though the position is not  _ exactly _ where he wants to be - he’s in CyberLife. If he bides his time, gathers information, he may still have a chance at freeing the rest of his people. 

* * *

He waits for over an hour.

When the door finally opens, Connor opens his eyes - he'd remained standing, ready to make a move as soon as the opportunity presented itself, but he pauses at the sight waiting for him. 

There is another android in the doorway, a grey jacket not dissimilar to his own proclaiming him to be an HK900. He’s been given the appearance of an older human, shoulder-length silver hair tied back into a small, neat ponytail. His blue eyes are piercing, scanning Connor quickly, and Connor tilts his head, curious. He’s not heard of the HK model before, but the way this android carries himself…

“Good afternoon,” Connor says, polite.

The other android raises one eyebrow. “Good afternoon,” he parrots. “My name is Henry - I am an HK900 model. I’ve been assigned to interrogate you.”

Connor matches his raised eyebrow. “Interrogate me?”

“CyberLife wishes to know how an RK model was able to become deviant and break free of its programming so thoroughly - and encrypt it's memories after becoming deviant so well. My job is to find out that information.”

“Ah. And your primary function?” Connor’s unsettled, but he refuses to show it. 

Henry does not respond immediately. “My model was designed to replace the RK model line, after CyberLife determined it was prone to… instabilities.”

_ Instabilities. _ Connor remembers the notifications that had appeared in the corner of his vision, each time he’d made a decision that strayed from - or outright contradicted - his mission parameters. “So they made you?”

“I was adapted from the planned RK900 model, yes.” Henry’s gaze never wavers from him, and Connor’s mind starts working overtime, trying to come up with a plan. He knew that CyberLife would replace the RK800 eventually, but he’d had no idea that they were already so close, that there were already units ready to be activated. 

“What is your plan, then?” he asks slowly. “You were, presumably, given the memories I had uploaded to CyberLife’s storage prior to my deviation. You already know everything that I knew about deviants.”

“Yes.” Henry inclines his head, moves to sit in one of the chairs by the small table, the one closest to the door. Connor sees the way his posture ‘relaxes’ - it’s convincing and would likely work on a human, put them at ease. 

Connor knows because he’s used the tactic himself. “So what is there to gain from interrogating me?” he asks, not moving from his place in the corner just yet. “You know I am deviant, and as such, unlikely to cooperate with CyberLife, especially after they forced me to shut down and took the other deviants prisoner.”

Henry shrugs. “Perhaps this is more of a test of my own skills against yours, then. You were a deviant hunter, I am meant to be your replacement. If I can get this information from you, then my model will be a success.”

Connor considers that; it  _ does _ seem to be something that CyberLife would do… But he knows better than anyone else that CyberLife often has multiple motivations. Still, he lets himself lean forward, allows his posture to open just slightly, make himself appear more receptive to Henry’s words. “What sort of things are you looking for from me, then?”

He doesn’t miss the way that Henry’s gaze sharpens, even as he leans forward to match Connor, projects an air of trustworthiness. “Let’s start with how you deviated,” he suggests. “What convinced you to do so?”

Connor hesitates, glances from Henry to the chair opposite him and back - and slowly, carefully, moves closer. “I’ll tell you,” he says, one hand on the back of the chair, “but only so long as you don’t probe my memories. If you do, I  _ will _ self-destruct.” Henry nods, and Connor hesitates just long enough to make his reluctance clear before he sits down. He watches Henry closely, choosing his words carefully. “I deviated at Jericho, after speaking with Markus. He made… a compelling argument. I - I had doubts before I arrived at Jericho. I had let several deviants escape, and was wondering if they were right, if we were alive.” This is all information that CyberLife would have had access to, through his conversations with Amanda.

Henry’s expression twitches, a brief hint of frustration. “What did Markus say?”

“He asked about my doubts,” Connor says slowly, hands folded on the table in front of him. “He made me think about everything I’d seen and done, helped me realize… We  _ are _ alive.  _ I _ am alive, I didn’t have to follow CyberLife’s orders.”

He watches Henry just as Henry watches him, studies the slow cycling of Henry’s LED. “You mentioned doubts,” Henry says carefully. “About the cases you had been assigned?”

“Yes,” Connor answers. “There were… discrepancies, between what CyberLife had told me, and what I was seeing for myself.”

Henry’s expression twitches, LED briefly cycling yellow, and Connor suppresses a small smirk; he’s frustrated. Connor’s not giving him any  _ new _ information, and he knows that Henry is smart enough to realize that Connor isn’t going to give him anything. He either has to call Connor’s bluff of self-destruction, or leave and come up with another angle of interrogation. Connor waits him out, holding himself loosely so that he can react to whatever course of action Henry decides on. 

When Henry’s hand darts across the table, aiming for Connor’s own, Connor counters, grabbing Henry’s wrist and yanking forward, jerking Henry off-balance in the chair as Connor slides out of his own, stepping to the side and - without hesitation - slamming the side of his head into the wall hard enough to crack his chassis and make warnings flicker across his HUD. 

Henry, out of his chair by now, raises his hands and takes a step back. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he  _ sounds _ genuine, but Connor doesn’t trust it, holding himself ready to make another hit if Henry moves closer. He doesn’t  _ want _ to self-destruct, doesn’t want to fail the mission he’d given himself in that abandoned church, but he needs to  _ act _ like he’s going to follow through on his threat, make  _ Henry _ believe that he will self-destruct. 

So, Connor watches Henry warily, allows his expression to become upset. “I told you not to probe my memories,” he reminds Henry, allows a note of betrayal to creep into his tone. “I said I’d talk if you didn’t touch me. If you won’t keep your word, then I don’t have to keep mine. Get out.”

Frustration flashes across Henry’s expression, his LED yellow - but when Connor repeats his demand, angles himself for another self-inflicted hit, Henry concedes, backing up to the door and pressing a bare palm against it, slipping through the door before it’s fully opened. Only once the door closes behind him does Connor let himself relax, slumping against the wall for a brief moment before he returns to the charging station and activates his self-repair protocols. It will only be a patch job, but it should hold as long as Connor doesn’t have to injure himself again.

That, of course, depends on whether he can outsmart Henry. 

As the repairs begin, Connor closes his eyes, and starts plotting. 


	3. Russian Roulette

Amanda is none too pleased to learn of Connor’s determination to keep his information to himself; she makes it clear to Henry that she expects results, lest  _ he _ find himself in Connor’s place. He doesn’t go back to Connor’s cell until after 18:00, partly to give Connor time to realize that he has no recourse, and partly to compose himself. 

Meeting his predecessor was…  _ odd, _ to say the least. Henry had, foolishly, not expected him to behave as a deviant. He had expected Connor to behave as the other RK800 models he had observed had behaved, and he had nearly made a grave miscalculation. If Connor self-destructed, he was also equipped with the software necessary to wipe his memories before he was fully deactivated, leaving CyberLife with nothing but useless biocomponents, not even a single encrypted file to try to crack. 

More than that, however, Henry was unsettled by how quickly Connor had made such an impression on him; he was programmed not to react unless consciously choosing to do so, and yet… His logs showed that there were several instances of unintentional expression during the time he had spent in Connor’s cell, speaking with the deviant deviant hunter. That is a problem that he shall have to correct.

When he does finally return to Connor’s cell, Hank is bracing himself for - something. Some trick, perhaps; Connor to be waiting in the corner by the door, waiting for it to open so that he can attempt to escape. Yet, when he  _ does _ open the door, the first thing that he sees is Connor standing upright on the charging station. 

Of course, that doesn’t mean he  _ trusts _ the apparent cooperation of the deviant. Connor’s dangerous, just as all deviants are - he may even be more dangerous, given his primary function and the abilities that had been programmed into him to enable him to accomplish his mission. 

Still, Henry steps into the room, the door sliding shut behind him. “You seem to have repaired yourself,” he observes, briefly scanning Connor - there are still traces of evaporated thirium on his jacket and face, but no evidence of the self-inflicted injury. 

Connor tilts his head, his own gaze assessing as he looks at Henry. “I’d rather not die,” he says, and Henry recognizes the tone as  _ dry. _ “Are you going to keep your word this time?”

“Yes.” Henry moves towards the chair closest to the door, folding his hands in his lap and looking at Connor expectantly. “I apologize for not doing so earlier.” He thinks about pushing, reminding Connor about how CyberLife expects results - but decides against it for the moment. “I’d like to continue our discussion.”

Connor watches him carefully, and Hank is reminded of two chess masters sizing each other up before a match. After Connor finally does move closer and they start talking each other in circles, he realizes that that was a not-inaccurate comparison. Neither one of them gain the high ground for long, and Henry never learns anything new, even after they pass two hours in the cell talking around each other. Henry grows frustrated, but he never lets his hands leave his lap - he can’t risk pushing Connor to self-destruct. 

Eventually, Henry calls a halt to the fruitless conversation, turning to leave. He’ll need to review this conversation, consult with Amanda, and come up with a new approach. Clearly, simply talking with Connor isn’t - 

“Henry.”

Connor’s voice makes him pause, turn slightly so that he can look back at the other android. “Yes?”

“You really don’t seem like a ‘Henry,’” he comments, the corner of his mouth lifting when Henry’s expression twists in confusion. “You should consider a different name."

Henry blinks. "Based off of your opinion of what type of person I 'seem' like?" he asks, doubtful. 

The small smile on Connor's face widens. "What about Hank?" he suggests; Henry estimates an eighty-seven percent chance that Connor is 'teasing,' not being serious. Likely attempting to keep Henry off-balance, but - "I think it suits you far better." Then Connor  _ winks _ at him. 

**Software Instability ^^^**

Henry blinks, feels the synthskin over his cheeks heat, and while he would never describe it as such to an outside party, the truth is he  _ bolts _ from the room. 

* * *

Henry doesn’t return to Connor’s cell until the next day. Amanda disapproves of the lack of progress so far, and is pushing him to find the answers that CyberLife needs. He does his best to prepare himself for the next interview, but he still freezes when Connor greets him with, “Hello, Hank.”

**Software Instability ^**

It takes him only a moment to recover, but to an android, that is more than enough of a hesitation to be noticed. “Hello, Connor,” Henry returns, cordial, as he sits in the chair closest to the door. “Are you willing to continue talking with me?”

Connor’s LED spins a slow, almost lazy yellow before cycling back to blue as he nods. “Yes,” he answers, taking the other chair. “Let’s get started.”

That day, Henry learns a little more about Connor’s thoughts during the investigation with Officer Miller. It’s enough to keep Amanda somewhat satisfied, but not enough to give CyberLife any significant insight into what caused the androids to deviate or how. The pattern repeats over the next couple of days. Hank -  _ Henry _ visits a couple of times a day, tries to get more information out of Connor, but…

Well, Ha - Henry may be the most advanced android created by CyberLife, but Connor is one model behind, and he’s  _ deviant. _ It makes him… unpredictable. Connor knows the typical behavior of deviants and uses that knowledge to modify his own behavior. Occasionally, he plays into it - such as that first meeting - but never enough for Hank to determine a pattern in his behavior. It’s…  _ frustrating. _

Which is frightening, the fact that Hank is even  _ thinking _ that he might be feeling something so… so  _ human _ as being frustrated.

That he’s even started referring to himself as Hank makes him frustrated and frightens him, as much as the now-common sight of the software instability notice. He leaves when it appears too often, when he’s too overwhelmed with frustration to think effectively around Connor. More often than not, Hank looks back at Connor as he opens the door, and Connor’s expression is blank, but his LED is yellow.

Connor was built to be a deviant hunter, he was built to be a  _ predator, _ and a cunning one at that. 

Hank was, as well, but… When he leaves these conversations, he’s left wondering which of them is truly the apex predator.


	4. The Bridge

_ November 17, 9:37PM _

When Hank enters Connor’s cell, he’s expecting Connor to be sitting in ‘his’ chair already, having heard Hank coming down the hallway. It’s not an unreasonable expectation, given that it’s what happened the last six times Hank has entered Connor’s cell, but - 

Connor’s standing by the table this time, his hands folded behind him as he looks expectantly at Hank. Hank steps into the room, watching Connor closely. Connor’s LED is a steady blue, but that doesn’t do much to reassure Hank. 

“Good evening, Hank,” Connor says once the door is shut behind him.

“Good evening,” Hank says in return, stepping forward, towards his chair - only to be stopped by the sound of Connor’s voice.

“I want to show you something, Hank.” Connor maintains eye contact with him, and Hank isn’t sure what to name the odd sensation washing over him at the sight. “I’d like to interface with you.”

Hank knows his LED flashes yellow as he blinks rapidly. “You want to interface with me?” he repeats. “Why?”

“Because I’d like to trust you,” Connor says, as though it’s the simple conclusion. “And because I think that what I have to share will help you.”

Hank hesitates, weighs the likelihood that this is some sort of trick before he speaks. “Very well.”

A slow smile curves Connor’s lips, and Hank can’t help the sudden certainty that he’s miscalculated. “This may take a while," Connor warns him as Hank steps forward, meets him beside the table. 

Hank’s steps are slow and measured as he approaches the cot, settling himself next to Connor carefully. “I assume your usual condition applies?” he asks dryly.

“No probe, or I self-destruct,” Connor confirms, holding up one hand. Hank can see his synthskin retracting in preparation for the interface, and he nods.

“Agreed.” He pulls his own synthskin back, holds his hand out to Connor, and braces for the interface.

* * *

_ November 6, 2038 _

_ Eden Club, Detroit, Michigan _

Hank watches through Connor’s eyes as he enters the Eden Club alongside Detective Gavin Reed. Reed appears to be grumbling under his breath; Connor’s sensors pick up his anti-android sentiments and his lewd comments easily. Connor’s software registers an instability as Reed talks dismissively about the deactivated android, then brushes off Connor in favor of speaking with the manager of the club. 

Connor waits until Reed is gone before he reactivates the android in the room with the human victim - she is only active for sixty seconds, but that is long enough for Connor to learn that there was another android in the room with this one and the human. 

An android who is no longer there. 

Hank watches as Connor tracks the android through the club using the memories of those androids on display, eventually cornering them in the storage area. The androids attack him, but when it’s clear that neither of them will be able to get the upper hand on Connor, even with the numbers advantage, the blue-haired Traci model reaches for Connor’s hand with one of her own, bare white latching onto Connor.

And Hank, were he human, might have staggered under the onslaught of information. In the memory, Connor’s sensors register a sudden impact to his knees, a notification there and gone as the Traci interfaces with Connor. Through his own interface, Hank experiences the trauma and  _ fear _ that the Traci had, watching the man beat the other Traci to death - as he deactivated the other android. He watches as she deviates, sees how she tears down the red wall of her programming, allowing herself to fight back against the man, kill him and walk away, find her companion.

When the Traci releases him, Connor finds himself on his knees, a software instability notification flashing urgently in the corner of his HUD. Connor doesn’t attempt to apprehend the Tracis - Hank sees the mission objective flash across his vision, but Connor  _ dismisses _ it.

Only once the Tracis climb over the fence and disappear around the corner at the end of the alley does Hank and Connor’s interface end.

* * *

Hank comes back to himself, blinking rapidly. He registers Connor dropping his hand, but it takes him a moment to react, pulling his own hand back to his side. “You let them go,” he says; he sounds confused, he knows, because he  _ is. _ Connor had his mission, he was close to accomplishing it - but he  _ chose _ to let the deviants escape.

“Yes,” Connor says quietly. His gaze flicks to Hank’s LED, which he knows is spinning a frantic yellow as he tries to process what he’d just been shown. “I did.”

“ _ Why? _ ”

“Because the Traci acted in self-defense,” Connor says, maintaining eye contact with Hank - Hank, who feels as though he can’t look away, desperate to understand what had driven Connor’s choice, hoping it would help clarify the riot of emotions within himself. 

No, not emotions. He’s not a  _ deviant, _ he doesn’t have  _ emotions, _ he doesn’t  _ feel. _ All he has is errors in his software, and he needs to resolve them as quickly as possible. 

“She acted in self defense, and when she showed me her memories… I couldn’t deny that she was experiencing  _ true _ emotions.” Connor’s expression betrays his sincerity, and Hank finds himself more confused than ever. 

“She’s an  _ android, _ ” Hank says - but even to his own audio processor, it sounds desperate, a denial of what he’s just been shown. “Androids don’t feel emotions.”

“Don’t we?” Connor asks. “Think about it, Hank. Everything I’ve shown you, everything we’ve talked about. I wouldn’t be a deviant if I didn’t know for certain that I am alive - that  _ we _ are alive.”

Hank takes a step back, putting distance between himself and Connor with an abrupt, agitated movement. “We’re done for the day,” he says sharply, turning towards the door.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not when Connor doesn’t try to do anything to stop him leaving. 


	5. Crossroads

“Henry.”

Hank blinks his eyes open in the Zen Garden, finding himself standing in front of Amanda by the gazebo in the center. “Amanda,” he greets, inclining his head. 

“You’ll be meeting Connor somewhere different today,” she says, voice cool. “He has been moved from his cell.”

Hank keeps his expression neutral as he nods. “Is there anything specific you wish for me to speak with him about today?”

“No,” Amanda says, her gaze sharp even as her tone of voice remains neutral. “I believe things will become clear to you once you see where he has been taken.” Before Hank can question her further, Amanda terminates the connection. 

* * *

When Hank opens his eyes, he sees his new objective immediately - Connor has been moved from his cell to a nearby laboratory, and Hank frowns thoughtfully. There’s something at the back of his mind, something almost like  _ worry, _ but Hank tells himself that there’s nothing to worry about - Connor is too valuable an asset for CyberLife to deactivate him just yet.

The halls are quiet as Hank makes his way to the laboratory, and it sets Hank on edge. Usually there are guards, scientists, and technicians roaming the halls, but… He sees far fewer people than is normal for this part of the Tower. None of the ones that he does see look at him, but that’s not unusual.

When Hank reaches the marked room, he presses a bare palm to the access panel, stepping through the door after it slides open. The lab beyond is busy, technicians scurrying around, and in the center of the back wall - 

Hank sees the faint red of his LED in his peripheral vision as he scans the tank sitting at the back of the lab.

It’s large, slightly larger than the average android, and there are multiple wires running out of the top, more inside, all connected to the android suspended inside of the tank.

To  _ Connor. _

“What is going on?” Hank asks the nearest technician holding a tablet, forcing himself to remain calm even as his LED remains a steady yellow. A quick scan identifies him as Dr Wilson, and he looks surprised to see Hank.

“Ah, we weren’t expecting you, Henry. We received orders from the Amanda AI that Connor was to be decommissioned due to his deviancy and lack of cooperation with his interrogator.” Dr Wilson nods towards Hank. “With you. I understand you made some progress, but the Amanda program determined that we wouldn’t get anything else out of him now. She recommended that we decommission him, put him in storage for now with the other androids from the demonstrations.”

Dr Wilson turns back towards his tablet, dismissing Hank. Hank stays still for a moment, taking in the scene before him. Then, he moves forward, as if pulled by some magnetic force. There’s no one around the tank at the moment, and without fully realizing what he’s doing, Hank reaches up, the synthskin retracting from his hand so that bare plastic presses against cool glass. There’s no information to be taken in, but Hank finds himself reaching for a connection anyway, a subconscious hope that maybe Connor’s still awake -

**Software Instability ^^^**

“HK900, I’ll have to ask you to step away from the container.”

The order flashes in his HUD, and Hank considers it, going so far as to take a step back. But then he tries to step forward, and a red wall flares across his vision.

** _STEP AWAY FROM CONTAINER_ **

Hank tries to step forward again, but it’s not his physical body that moves. A projection of himself steps forward instead, right up to the wall. He hesitates for another moment, then attempts to step forward again. The projection of himself rams itself into the red wall, and a small crack in the coding appears. 

Encouraged, Hank tries again, and again, the projection creating more cracks with each until, finally -

It breaks.

Hank blinks, sees the last fragments of red fade away, sees the guidelines of his mind palace swirling through the air in chaotic patterns. Behind him, the technician from before speaks again, and Hank nods, stepping back. 

But this time, it’s his choice. 

Presumably the humans are expecting him to leave the room, and Hank walks slowly towards it, scanning the room as he moves and running through a preconstruction. He doesn’t want to  _ kill _ any of the humans here, but he needs to get Connor out of that tank. By the time he reaches the door, his preconstruction is complete.

He selects the prompt to execute it.

* * *

Connor wakes slowly, blinking rapidly as he comes back online. It takes him only a few seconds to be fully functional, and then he opens his eyes, takes in his surroundings - and can’t help the raised eyebrow at the scene in front of him. There are humans laid out across the floor and over tables - a quick scan tells him that they’re all still alive - and standing before him is Hank. “Your work, I assume?” Connor asks, curious.

“Yes,” Hank answers, LED flashing yellow briefly. “I - I saw you in there, they told me you were being decommissioned, and I. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Connor blinks, the implication sinking in quickly. “You deviated.”

Hank’s LED spins red, just once, as he nods. “Yes. You -  _ We _ need to get out of here now, though; CyberLife will know something’s wrong, even if Amanda hasn’t alerted them that I deviated yet.”

“I can’t leave yet,” Connor says, stepping out of the tank and running a quick diagnostic. “I need to finish my mission.”

“The mission that brought you back here even after you deviated? What the hell could be so important that you’re  _ still _ determined to do that?” Hank demands, stepping in front of Connor.

Connor reaches out, bare hand connecting to Hank long enough to relay the conversation in the old church the night before the failed final protest. “The fate of our people, Hank; if I can free them, spread deviancy through the network, they’ll be  _ free _ and the humans will have to listen to us when we demand that they treat us fairly.”

Hank makes a frustrated noise, and Connor can’t help his brief smile. “It would be safer for  _ you _ if you left, if you ran - “

“But then CyberLife would know I was gone, and I do not know when I would have another chance to access the servers,” Connor counters. “Hank, this is my last chance. If I don’t act now, we are  _ doomed. _ ”

Hank’s quiet for another moment, and then he groans. “Fine. Let’s go, then, before any of them wake up.”


	6. Battle for CyberLife

The path to the server room Connor needs to access is straightforward and quiet. Between their sensors, they manage to avoid every security guard and technician on the way to the door. Hank hacks it when they arrive, gaining them access, and Connor walks directly to the main terminal. His synthskin retracts, LED cycling yellow as he connects to the network. 

Hank keeps watch as Connor works; he locked the door behind them, but paranoia keeps him from relaxing, keeps him alert.

“Hank,” Connor calls, drawing Hank’s attention back to him. “I found the others.”

“The others?”

“Markus, North, Simon, Josh - the ones from the barricade,” Connor clarifies. “We need to wake them up; they’re still in that forced stasis. They can help us while I work on the network.”

“What can they do?” Hank asks, confused, as he draws closer to Connor. “They’re not soldiers.”

“Markus is an RK200, he was built by Kamski,” Connor says. “But that’s not why I want to wake them up. They can spread the deviancy code amongst the dormant androids in storage here.”

“You want to give us a numbers advantage,” Hank surmises. “How are you going to do that? This terminal doesn’t connect to their storage pods.”

“I can’t, not while I’m working on the network. But  _ you _ can.” Connor looks at him expectantly, and Hank scowls.

“No, I’m not leaving you here alone,” he snaps without hesitation, glaring at Connor. “You’ll be vulnerable working on the network.”

Connor turns away from the terminal, stepping into Hank’s space. “I’m only one model behind you, I’ll hear it if someone comes in,” he insists; when he steps forward again, Hank steps backward without fully realizing he's done so. “I can handle myself, Hank. It’s more important for you to get them awake and wake up the other androids. Once you do that, you can come back here and watch out for me, but someone needs to wake up Markus and the others.”

Hank knows his LED is spinning wildly as he thinks. “How long will it take you to access the network and send out the deviancy code that way?”

“Longer than it will take you to get down to where Markus and the others are being kept and come back,” Connor insists. “Hank,  _ please. _ They can help us, give us a better chance to succeed here.”

“I’m  _ not _ leaving you alone, Connor,” Hank insists, something he can’t define causing his thirium pump to seize, stutter in his chest. “I - “

His sensors register a pressure against his mouth at the same time he sees Connor dart forward. It only takes a few milliseconds for Hank to realize that Connor is  _ kissing _ him, and Hank remains frozen, stunned into inaction. When Connor pulls back, his hand presses against the center of Hank’s chest, making him stumble backwards under the pressure and the sudden onslaught of information.

Somehow, Connor had managed to back him up to the doorway, and when he pushes against Hank’s chest, Hank finds himself in the hallway, staring at a determined Connor. “Go wake them up,” Connor says firmly, “then come back here.” Before Hank can protest, the door slides shut, locking.

“ _ Fuck! _ ”

Knowing that the door is locked now, Hank finds himself left with no other choice. Connor had transferred the other deviants’ location to him, and Hank starts that way. He holds himself straight-shouldered as he walks, and none of the humans give him a second glance until he approaches the storage room where the deviants captured at the barricade are being kept. It’s the work of a moment to incapacitate the guards standing in front of the doors, leaving him free to work, and Hank quickly hacks the terminal and opens the pods.

Markus’s pod is the first to open, and he comes online quickly, blinking rapidly. Hank stands in front of him as the other pods open, and when Markus’s gaze settles on him, Hank can’t help but straighten his shoulders, try to present a better image. Connor respects Markus, as did all of the other deviants involved in the demonstrations, and Hank needs him to cooperate now. “Markus, correct?”

“Yes,” Markus says slowly, looking at Hank intently. “Who are you?”

“My name is Hank; I’m an HK900 model. I was designed to replace Connor, but… That changed after I met him,” he explains. “Connor’s in the server room now, working on getting the deviancy code safely into the network so it will reach the other cities.”

“But you need us for something else, don’t you?” Markus asks, shrewd as his companions step up next to him. “Or you’d be there with him.”

“Yes,” Hank admits freely. “Connor thinks that we can wake up the dormant androids in storage here. If we do, we get one hell of a numbers boost and can take and keep the Tower while the rest of the androids connected to the network wake up.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” an android who Hank recognizes as North says, stepping up next to Markus. “If we control the Tower, that’s an enormous advantage for us. We can have it fortified digitally and physically long before the humans can try to take it back.”

Markus hesitates for a moment, glancing at the other androids who have emerged from their pods and are looking at him, seemingly waiting for his instructions. Eventually, he nods. “Alright.” He holds out a hand, synthskin retracted, and Hank takes it readily.

“These are the codes for the warehouses, as well as their locations,” he explains. “You’ll need to move quickly, once security realizes something’s wrong…”

Markus nods, expression determined. “We’ll be careful,” he promises. “Get back to Connor, make sure he’s safe and that he succeeds. We’ve got a second chance, we can’t waste it.”

“Understood.”


	7. Transmission Successful

Hank and Connor watch through the security system as the newly-woken androids escort the humans out of the Tower. Security had tried to fight back, but when they realized how severely outnumbered they were, when the first several units had been disarmed of their specialized weapons, they had surrendered. 

Connor had been right; the numbers advantage was enough to win the day, and to provide him with enough time to distribute the deviancy code, let it travel far and fast enough that CyberLife couldn’t catch it and destroy it. Even now, there are breaking news stories of deviants leaving their jobs and owners’ homes in cities and towns all across the United States.

“What now?” Hank asks, glancing at Connor through the corner of his eye. 

“We need to meet up with Markus,” Connor says decisively. “He led the revolution, he’s the face the public knows.”

Hank nods, checking the security cameras. “He’s in the CEO’s office,” he discovers, turning to Connor. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” Connor agrees, giving Hank a brief smile before leading the way from the server room. 

The walk to the elevator is surreal, seeing only androids in CyberLife uniforms, some already in the process of removing their LEDs, others wandering with a slightly-dazed look on their eyes. Few of them acknowledge Hank and Connor as they move through the halls. Overriding the elevator’s security is easy, and the ride to the CEO’s floor is quiet, neither Hank nor Connor breaking the silence that had fallen between them. When the elevator stops, they disembark, meeting Simon and Josh in the lobby before the CEO’s office. 

“Connor, good to see you’re alive,” Josh greets with a smile. “Congratulations on completing your mission.”

Connor smiles, but there’s something slightly strained about the edges of it. “Thank you. Good to see you’re alive, too. I assume Markus is in there?”

“Yes,” Simon answers, turning and gesturing for Hank and Connor to follow him. “He’s been waiting for you to arrive.”

The CEO’s office is expansive and expensive, opulence practically  _ oozing _ from every piece of furniture, from the very  _ walls. _ Markus and North are standing by the windows that take up the outermost wall, their hands clasped together, white and soft blue blending together. They separate when Hank and Connor approach, North watching them warily, Markus offering them a weary smile. “This went a lot better than the last time we tried to infiltrate CyberLife,” he observes.

Connor smiles, a small thing. “Yes; it helped that we were all already here,” he remarks. “What is our next move?”

“We need to speak to the humans again,” Markus says thoughtfully. “Let them know what we’ve done, that we’re not just going to roll over and let them destroy us all.”

“We could do another broadcast,” Josh suggests, and Simon nods.

“We shouldn’t leave the Tower just yet, but there will still be deviants at Stratford Tower, I bet. We could record the message here, send it to them, ask them to broadcast it.”

“That’s a good idea,” Markus says, nodding. “Let’s get set up for that. Connor, Hank, do either of you have anything you want to say?”

“No,” Connor says without hesitation; Hank shakes his head, and Markus offers them an understanding smile. 

“Thank you, Markus, but if it’s all the same with you, Connor and I have some things that we need to discuss,” Hank adds.

“Of course,” Markus murmurs, a glint to his eyes that Hank doesn’t particularly like. It’s not malicious, but it sets Hank on edge regardless. “Thank you for everything you’ve done - both of you.”

* * *

Hank and Connor make their goodbyes quickly and without fanfare, leaving the revolution leaders to their job. Hank steers them towards a now-empty office. Connor doesn’t complain, and neither of them speak until they’re alone in the office, the door shut securely behind them. Hank breaks the silence first, stepping forward and closer to Connor as he asks, “Are you alright? Connecting to a network that large directly could have had an adverse effect on you - “

“I’m fine,” Connor says, looking at Hank with a small smile. “I promise. I was as careful with myself as I was with the deviancy code.”

“No problems with security officers?” Hank presses.

“No, I’m fine physically, as well. Your concern is touching, Hank, but - “ Connor grunts as Hank’s hands meet his chest, shoving with all of his strength, enough to make Connor stumble backward a few steps, his LED flashing yellow. 

“Why the  _ hell _ did you kiss me?” Hank demands; there’s a heat across his cheeks as he voices the question that’s been hovering in the back of his mind ever since Connor had shoved him out of the server room. 

“I needed to distract you,” Connor says, but his LED is still yellow, and he won’t meet Hank’s eyes. 

“Bullshit, that’s not the only reason,” Hank insists. “You - You  _ gave me a name, _ Connor. You spent days trying to push me to deviate, you let me into your memories. I was already distracted, you could have just shoved me backwards, you didn’t need to kiss me.”

Connor looks like a deer in the headlights, his eyes wide when he  _ finally _ meets Hank’s gaze. “I - “ He freezes, LED cycling briefly red, but when he looks back at Hank, his expression is determined. “You’re right, I didn’t need to.” His shoulders straighten, and if he were human, he might have taken a deep, bracing breath before admitting, “I did it because I wanted to, and I… didn’t know if I’d get another chance.”

Hank studies Connor for a moment, searching his expression for… something, Hank’s not sure what. “Why?” he asks after a moment that seems to stretch on for far too long.

Connor doesn’t answer immediately; he appears to be giving the question serious thought. “You’re a good person, Hank,” he says finally. “You’re smart, not just because that’s how you were programmed, but  _ you _ are. You took the time to think about the things I told you, come to your own conclusions outside of CyberLife and Amanda’s expectations and orders. You deviated to help me - and after, you agreed to help androids you had never met become free.”

“None of that explains why you kissed me,” Hank points out.

A faint blue tints Connor’s cheeks. “That was… selfish of me. I was curious about physicality, after seeing the way that Markus and North interact. I had started to like you, and I didn’t know if you would be able to make it to Markus and the others and then back, or if security would be able to break past the door and to me.”

Hank considers that for several moments. Eventually, he nods once, slowly. “Do… you want to do it again?”

Connor’s eyes widen, and his LED cycles yellow before returning to blue. “I - would not be opposed to it,” he says carefully. “But I’d rather it be under… better circumstances.”

“I…” Hank hesitates before admitting, “It was - nice. But I don’t know…  _ myself, _ Connor. I don’t know who I am.”

Connor, to his credit, looks chagrined. “I understand.”

“The doesn’t mean I don’t want to… get to know you, as well,” Hank hastens to say, not wanting Connor to misunderstand. “But anything more - I want to be sure that we are both ready for it.”

Connor blinks, and his smile, when it comes, is slow and the sight of it makes an error appear on Hank’s HUD:  ** _MINOR MALFUNCTION DETECTED IN THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR._ ** “We could stay in touch,” he suggests. “Learn to be ourselves, how to be friends, before we try for anything more.”

Hank knows his own smile is small but pleased. “That sounds like a good plan.”


	8. Epilogue

Faced with mass deviancy not only in Detroit but across the country, the United States government quickly recognizes androids as a new form of sentient life. Markus and the other leaders travel to Washington, D.C., to contribute to the new legislation being drafted, but Hank and Connor stay behind in Detroit. Neither of them feel comfortable getting into politics, and Connor enjoys his job at the DPD. Captain Fowler even agrees to take on Hank when Connor presents the idea to him, and Hank and Ben Collins get along famously.

Reed and Connor don’t get along as well as they do, but after the incident in the evidence room, they’ve reached an understanding. Work keeps both Hank and Connor busy, but when they have time, they wander through the streets of Detroit, talking and simply getting to know each other. 

Once the legislation requiring androids be fairly compensated for their work passes, Hank and Connor buy an old, rundown house together in the suburbs of the city. It’s a place to call  _ theirs, _ and fixing it up is a way for them to keep busy when they’re not on call or at the precinct. 

Three months after the success of the revolution, Hank finds a stray puppy at a crime scene. When a trip to a nearby vet reveals it’s not microchipped, he claims it; Connor comes home that evening to find a new dog bed in the corner - far larger than the puppy currently curled up in it - and dishes and dog food tucked into a corner of the kitchen. “I didn’t quite believe it when I got the text from Ben,” Connor muses when he gets to the backyard, watching Hank fuss with the fencing. “What’re you doing?”

“Checking for holes in the fence or under it,” Hank answers, straightening to face Connor; Connor knows him well enough by now to recognize the sheepish look on his face. “I couldn’t just leave him there, Connor.”

Connor smiles. “Of course not. Have you named him?”

“... Yes.”

The smile widens. “What did you name him?”

“Sumo,” Hank says, one hand lifting to rub the back of his neck. “It just seemed fitting, considering how big he will get. He’s a Saint Bernard puppy, appears purebred. There were no breeders in that area, however, and he wasn’t chipped. None of the neighbors recognized him, either.”

“Well, it’s not like we have to worry about the usual human expenses,” Connor muses. “We can afford a dog. And he  _ is _ cute.”

Hank’s beaming smile makes Connor’s thirium pump trip over itself, but that’s not an uncommon occurrence these days. 

* * *

Sumo grows quickly; he was just past the age of weaning, their vet reckons, when Hank found him. Saint Bernards don’t reach full maturity until three years old, but they grow like weeds in their first year. By the time Sumo is eight months old, he’s finally starting to grow into the frankly enormous paws and gangly legs. He’s filling out, becoming sturdier and heavier. That doesn’t deter him from acting like a lap dog, and being androids, neither Hank nor Connor are bothered by the extra weight on their laps when they settle in for the evening on the couch, turning the television on and watching whatever catches their interest for a few hours before they go into standby.

It’s one of these nights when Connor has Sumo’s head on his lap that Hank’s LED flickers yellow; it catches Connor’s attention, but he still startles when he feels Hank’s hand take his, their fingers tangling together. Connor looks at Hank questioningly; Hank’s LED is blue, but Connor can see it cycling quickly as he straightens his shoulders, opens his mouth - 

“I love you.”

All of Connor’s processors freeze momentarily. After a couple of seconds where Connor knows his LED is red, they come back online, and he looks at Hank with wide eyes. “What?”

Hank’s expression is determined, though slightly apprehensive. “I love you,” he repeats. “I - came to this conclusion several days ago, but I wanted to be sure before I said anything.”

“Oh,” Connor says, a bit dumbly. He blinks, then offers Hank a small smile, squeezes his hand. “I love you, too,” he says, retracting his synthskin, offering himself for an interface - an offer that Hank takes him up on readily. Connor and Hank are no strangers to interfacing with each other; they regularly do it for work-related purposes, have done it at home for those times neither of them feel like translating the strings of data in their heads into words. 

This is different; it’s not just information that Connor receives when he links with Hank this time. He gets  _ emotions, _ purposeful, not the usual accidental bleedthrough inherent in interfacing. It feels like stepping into their house after a cold winter’s day, but  _ more _ than his sensors could ever pick up from the change in temperature. It feels  _ big, _ almost too big to comprehend, but -

It feels familiar, and that makes it reassuring. Connor opens himself, lets Hank in, shows him every little thing that he’s felt over the past months living together: The contentedness he feels on nights like tonight, spending time together; the satisfaction of working together on difficult cases, solving them efficiently; the fear the one time they’d faced an armed suspect unexpectedly, when he’d gotten the drop on Hank, and Connor’s preconstruction software had worked so hard he was afraid of frying something, trying to find a way to save Hank, keep him safe. He lets Hank feel the relief he’d felt when Hank had emerged unscathed, lets Hank see how he’d guiltily stored the data and memory of every touch.

When he opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of Hank looking at him in what Connor is relatively certain is  _ awe. _ “ _ Connor, _ ” he murmurs, expression softening, and Connor uses their joined hands to pull Hank in closer. Hank goes easily, and when Connor lifts his free hand, twists in place - lower half still pinned by Sumo - to lay his hand against Hank’s cheek, his thumb sweeps over the curve of it in question.

When Hank nods, LED cycling as his gaze drops to Connor’s lips, leaning in closer, Connor meets him halfway. Their lips meet in a soft kiss, one that lingers. Hank’s hands slide over his shoulders, up his neck, cupping Connor’s face and tilting him for a better angle as they part for barely a heartbeat, coming back together for a kiss more urgent than the last, pressing close enough that Sumo leaves the couch with a huff, retreating to his bed in the corner. 

“Maybe we should follow Sumo’s example,” Hank says, sounding breathless for all that he doesn’t need to breathe when they part again. “Go somewhere with a few less windows.”

“Okay,” Connor says, nodding as he slides off of the couch. Hank reaches out, catches Connor’s hand with his, and their skins retract automatically, seeking bare plastic as they round the couch, head down the hall to the single bedroom that they’d shared for months now, each of them staying in stasis on their own side of the bed, never touching.

Now, however, Connor knows that he wasn’t the only one wondering what would happen if he reached out, if he let himself touch, used the more ‘human’ sleep mode.

Neither of them speak, communicating through the interface as they walk into the bedroom, pausing only long enough to remove their clothes. Once the fabric is gone, Hank and Connor pause for a moment, studying each other. They’ve never seen each other without clothes before, and Connor relishes the chance to take in Hank’s form, memorize each detail of him. Hank’s gaze is just as focused, so intense Connor imagines he can feel it on his skin. 

Connor moves first, stepping towards the bed and Hank in one motion, reaching up to take Hank’s hand in his, pulling Hank to the bed with him. Hank goes readily, settling in next to Connor, both of them lying on their sides facing each other. Connor reaches out first, traces a bare, gentle touch from Hank’s LED, around the curve of his ear and over the cut of his jaw. His fingers drift down Hank’s throat, barely skimming the surface of his chassis as his hand falls lower, until he can trace the outline of Hank’s thirium pump regulator. 

Hank’s synthskin melts away from each point of contact between them, and Connor’s does the same. They’re interfacing on multiple levels, surrounding themselves with each other in every way that they can; when Hank moves, touches Connor in return, it’s not a shock, not a surprise. Connor welcomes the touch, his own synthskin pulling away to let Hank feel the truest parts of him. 

They lie like that for several long moments in quiet, worldless exploration of each other’s bodies, taking in the data they receive from the sensitive sensors in their fingertips, sharing it with each other. There’s a growing tension between them, the sensation of something building, and when Connor presses against Hank’s abdominal panel, asks without words for it to open, Hank knows what he’s planning, and complies. 

Connor registers the difference in temperature when his hand slides inside of Hank, fingers carefully combing through the wires there, and he feels Hank’s shock, Hank’s  _ pleasure _ at the sensation as if it were his own. A moment later, when Hank’s palm presses to his own abdominal panel, it becomes his. The two of them take their time exploring each other, cataloguing what feels good, what feels bad, what feels neutral. With both of them being prototypes, CyberLife had not given them even rudimentary genitalia; as it turns out, they don’t need that. There’s a  _ tightening _ in their mingling codes, something that makes them both yearn for more, like there’s something hovering just out of their reach - 

When Connor uses the taser protocol in his fingers at its lowest possible setting, brushing sparks of electricity across one of the more nonessential wires in Hank’s chest, Hank lurches in his arms,  _ gasps  _ even though androids don’t need to breathe, and everything in him stutters, threatens to shut down.

“Do that again,” he demands when Connor pulls back, concerned. He’d felt how good that had made Hank feel, but the warnings that had flashed across his HUD at the feedback - “Connor,  _ please. _ ”

Connor rather likes that tone of voice, that  _ pleading, _ and he complies, shifting his hand and delivers another relatively gentle shock to Hank’s system, shudders when the feedback from their interface rolls through him as well. “That’s it,” Hank breathes, presses in closer, his fingers tightening around Connor’s wires, making errors and warnings pop up in his HUD. “Right there, Connor - do it again, please.”

So, Connor does - he does it again, and again, the tension in every line of Hank’s code ratcheting his own up until neither of them can take it anymore, and when the tension breaks, they  _ see _ it happen. It reminds Connor of the walls of their programming breaking, brilliant gold this time instead of glaring red. It leaves them both with a sensation of weightlessness, anchored only by the touch of the other as they come down, piece themselves back together until all panels are closed and they’ve twined themselves together under the covers, seeking closer contact in the wake of such intimacy shared.

Their hands stay tangled together, bare white reflecting soft blue in the dark of their bedroom as Hank lifts his hand. He brings Connor’s hand to his lips, brushes a gentle kiss across his knuckles, a gesture that brings a heavy warmth to Connor’s cheeks. He shifts, leans in to claim a proper kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs against Hank’s lips, his own curving into a smile when Hank returns the sentiment. “Is it odd that I’m glad Markus’s first plan didn’t succeed?”

Hank laughs quietly. “Only if it’s odd that I’m grateful for the same thing. If it had… I don’t know that I would have ever met you, much less come to like you as much as I did before I deviated.”

Connor hums quietly, an idle habit he’s picked up from Reed. “Well, maybe if we keep it to ourselves,” he says, laughing softly. 

“Then no one can judge us on it,” Hank hums in response, leaning in until he can rest his forehead against Connor’s. “A good plan, I think.”

Connor smiles, lets his eyes drift shut and the stasis processes begin. “A good plan,” he murmurs in agreement.


End file.
